


Illusions of Distrust

by shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean, Brother Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed Winchesters (Supernatural), Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 05, no actions actually take place I promise, tw for discussion/suspicion of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod/pseuds/shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod
Summary: A communication breakdown between the brothers leads to Sam thinking that Dean's afraid of him and the evil he could do. When Dean takes the lead in hunts and starts hiding the weapons, Sam sees it as Dean's distrust in him. In reality, Dean is scared for Sam and what may be going on in his head.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 99
Collections: Sam Winchester Prompt-a-thon





	Illusions of Distrust

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [mtwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtwin/pseuds/mtwin) in the [SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon) collection. 



> Prompt:   
> *Warning: mentions of suicide* Sometime in Season 5. Dean's been worried about Sam's mental health and doesn't know how to approach the subject. So, until he can figure out what to do, he's been a little keyed up about weapons inventory and won't let Sam out of his sight for long. Sam notices his paranoia but comes to the wrong conclusion. He thinks Dean doesn't trust him, or is afraid he's going to go dark side at the drop of the hat.   
> Now Dean has to convince Sam he is scared for him, not scared of him.
> 
> This is definitely angstier than I usually write, but I loved participating! Like it says in the tags, there is some discussion/suspicion of self-harm/suicide in this, but no actions take place. The thoughts are on Dean's part and a result of the brothers not talking about stuff as per usual. I can promise it does end on a somewhat hopeful note if that helps at all. *I was a little nervous about posting this so if anyone has the time to leave any feedback it would be greatly appreciated!* Thanks for reading!

The signs started off small.

Sam probably would’ve noticed the subtle changes in his brother earlier had it not been for the breaking seals and looming apocalypse that, oh right, Sam had brought on.

Naturally he was a little more preoccupied with trying to right his mistake than he was with worrying about Dean’s slightly off behavior. Hell, Sam himself was changing. More research meant less sleep and with the weight of the literal world on his shoulders, he wasn’t getting much to begin with. They both came to arguments easier and in general things just didn’t flow as well as they used to. Dean was trying to stop an apocalypse too, after all, so some changes in personality and habits were probably to be expected.

Like when Dean insisted on taking point to get one of the demons they had been tracking for the past week. Dean had all but outright told Sam to hang back while he went in first, but Sam could tell by the look on Dean’s face what he meant. The distrust was growing like a fissure between them and no matter how many bridges Sam tried to build across, nothing helped.

Sam didn’t say anything regarding his brother’s absent trust in him. He only nodded silently and let Dean take the first steps into the abandoned warehouse.

Even with Dean taking point, the demon still managed to throw Sam into a metal shelving unit when his attention lapsed for a split second. Dean was quick with the demon-killing knife after having gotten back up from where he had similarly been tossed across the room. Sam watched the demon spark and shudder before Dean yanked out the blade and pushed the body to the side.

He was next to Sam the instant after, effectively blocking Sam’s view of the bleeding body as he checked his brother over.

That should have been Sam’s first real clue. But he was too busy nursing an already blooming headache to think about it too in depth.

“Too unfocused, I told you, Sam,” Dean muttered as he went about his ministrations and frowned when he pulled a bloodied hand away from his brother’s head.

_Too focused on the demon and its blood instead of getting the job done._

It wasn’t his first thought, but it definitely wormed its way into his head as the days passed by. They avoided demon cases for almost two weeks after, and Sam couldn’t find it in him to ask why. He already knew the answer, and hearing it from his brother’s mouth would just drive the knife further into his chest than it already was.

Hearing he was a monster via voicemail was bad enough. If he had to watch Dean form the words himself, Sam knew he would never recover.

So the issue went undiscussed, as many things did, in the futile hope that the situation would improve on its own.

* * *

If he thought the distrust was bad before, it was nothing compared to everything that happened after their encounter with the siren. Dean could barely look at him the day after, and Sam had to admit, he wasn’t doing much better on his own side of things. No matter what they said to try to get across that there hadn’t been any real bite to the words, they couldn’t take back what they had said or the fact that at least some of it had been true.

But even amidst their obvious divide, Dean was sticking to his side more than normal. He often insisted they go on food runs together, or instead of splitting up for cases, that they worked as a team. It was nice, sure, to be working together, but Sam couldn’t help but feel his older brother’s scrutiny with every move he made, especially when it concerned demons.

Things were getting bad, and his five hours of sleep a night turned into four, and then three. Dean must have noticed, because he slept longer than Sam, but not by much, and always plied him with coffee when Sam had been through an especially rough night.

It was an olive branch, Sam knew, but he only had to wonder as to what. An apology? An attempt at trust? They didn’t talk about any of it, as per usual, and continued skirting around each other, which in Dean’s case meant seldom letting Sam out of his sight while also not letting on about what was really getting under his skin.

It was the aftermath of a poltergeist hunt that brought about the most changes and finally got the wheels turning in Sam’s head.

A spirit was haunting a house where a family with two young sons lived. It had gotten violent, which led to news reports, which led to the Winchesters driving up to solve the situation. After a round of interviews and some explaining to the terrified couple, the family had agreed to leave the house until the Winchesters could get it cleared.

That had been the plan, until the poltergeist decided to lock all the doors and windows with the six of them still inside.

Sam had immediately made a grab for the rock salt gun, but found Dean’s hand already around it.

“Go, get them out, I’ll draw it off!” He twisted the gun out of Dean’s grip, figuring that his older brother had a slight edge on strength and would probably be able to get a door or window open if the poltergeist were distracted and loosened its hold.

“Sam, give me the gun, I got it!”

Sam screwed his face together and pumped the shotgun. “This isn’t the time, get them the hell out.” He didn’t leave any room for argument. This wasn’t the place for Dean to demonstrate his lost trust in Sam. He could handle a poltergeist, easy.

Sam made his way to the other side of the house, provoking the spirit the whole way with rock salt bursts and insults, while Dean moved to the front of the house with the family.

Getting them out was all that mattered. Sam may have damned the world, but he wouldn’t damn this family too by not doing his job.

The more rounds he fired the more the spirit focused on going after him and soon enough he heard the front door give. The sounds of the scared family faded, as they must have made for the front yard.

Sam grinned to himself, knowing that the main part of the job was done and that Dean could get the protections set up around the house. He continued shooting until he ran out of shells, and afterwards did what he could with an iron fire poker. The poltergeist didn’t physically manifest, but still gave Sam things to swing at as they came hurtling towards his head.

“Sam!” he heard Dean yell over the sound of a vase that crashed just inches above his head.

“Fine!” Sam yelled back and continued. It only took another minute before the bad energy seemed to leech from the house and the onslaught stopped. Sam had caught a hardcover book to the ribs and a few shards of glass to the face, but was otherwise unharmed.

The real hurt came when Dean rounded the hallway, out of breath from breaking holes in the corners of the house, to see Sam standing there. He looked worried, but also relieved that Sam had been able to do the job right.

As if he had thought Sam wouldn’t do it right in the first place.

Sam didn’t voice it, of course, and caught the dishtowel Dean threw his way so he could deal with the bleeding.

Back at the motel, Dean let Sam take the first shower, which he was definitely grateful for. Even under the water and in the mirror after, he couldn’t get all the glass shards out of the cuts on his cheek. His only option was to fish them out with tweezers and when he was done, the cuts definitely looked worse than before. But they would heal, which was what mattered.

When he came out of the bathroom to grab the first aid bag, Dean was watching him. He hadn’t yet changed out of his clothes and from his position sitting on the bed; he seemed to have not done much of anything while Sam was in the shower.

“Took you a while,” he commented with an emotion Sam couldn’t quite get a read on. His eyes then narrowed as he saw Sam’s face and he got up from the bed to get a closer look. “These look worse than before, they okay?” Dean raised careful fingers to appraise the wounds before he took the aid kit from Sam’s hands.

“Yeah, had some glass stuck in them that was tough to get out,” Sam explained easily. When he saw that Dean was pulling butterfly bandages from the kit, he made a move to get it back. “I can do it myself, Dean, seriously, it’s fine.”

“Sit down,” Dean jerked his head towards the bed and pulled out the rubbing alcohol. Sam couldn’t find it in himself to argue, and let Dean patch him up like he was five again.

Sam could clean up and bandage his own wounds. Just because he started the apocalypse didn’t mean he was incapable of fixing anything at all.

He almost opened his mouth to say it, but the words died in his throat as Dean pulled out three bandages and got to work.

* * *

Two days later, Dean insisted on sharpening all the knives himself. It was routine maintenance, actions Sam had completed hundreds of times over his life, but Dean didn’t back down. He made it sound casual, like it was no big deal, and put Sam’s laptop on his bed so he could do some more research while Dean finished with the knives.

It was strange behavior, even for Dean, and as Sam typed away, the pieces from the past few weeks started coming together.

His brother didn’t trust him, that was clear, especially around demons. But going so far as to practically bar Sam from touching some of the weapons when they weren’t on a hunt? That seemed like overkill.

It wasn’t like Sam would take a knife at random, go find a demon, and bleed it dry just for the hell of it. He wasn’t going to go off and make a pact with an angel or Lucifer or some other bottom-dweller to cause more problems than they already had. He wouldn’t put a family’s life at risk so he could get his revenge or whatever Dean seemed to think he was working through.

He wasn’t falling off the wagon and going dark side, Sam knew that for certain. He knew it in his bones, in his soul. If Dean would just talk to him instead of skirting around the problem, maybe Sam could get him to see that. If Sam himself could break the stalemate…

But with the rhythmic sounds of the blade on the sharpening stone and Sam’s own fingers on his laptop keys, he couldn’t make any attempt at conversation.

When Dean started storing the weapons duffel in the car at night instead of in the motel room, Sam hit an internal breaking point.

Sam had snuck out at night before to act behind Dean’s back, but he knew now that he had screwed up. Apparently, Dean didn’t. So if Sam wanted the demon blade or a shotgun or anything else to get his rocks off with during the night, he’d have to swipe the Impala’s keys from where they sat in his sleeping brother’s pocket, or break into the car altogether, which Dean would never forgive.

The fissure had quickly turned into a trench between them, and with the weapons locked away, any hope of regained trust seemed to be too.

Dean couldn’t do his best work if he was constantly worried about Sam making things worse. He couldn’t do his part to save people if he had to make sure his brother actually had his back when he needed it.

The solution to the problem was simple in Sam’s eyes: leave.

He knew it would drive a wedge between them, but it wasn’t like there was anything else he could do. With him out of the picture, on his own, Dean could focus back in on saving the world.

Sam gave it one more day, just to see if things could improve or if he could get some conversation started. But nothing improved and no opportunities presented themselves.

They ordered pizza to the motel room and Dean even let Sam pick the movie. It would have been a mundane night in if Dean hadn’t been checking on him periodically throughout the day when he thought Sam wasn’t looking.

When the pizza was finished and the movie done, they turned in for the night. Sam knew how to listen for his brother’s breathing patterns, and waited half hour after Dean fell asleep before making any noise.

He pulled out the small note he had written while Dean was in the bathroom and placed it on the nightstand. He didn’t have any weapons to take with him beyond a flask of holy water, so getting ready to leave took only a few minutes. The weapons he could replace. What they signified he couldn’t.

Sam paused at the motel door as he had done dozens of times in the past year. Only this time, he wasn’t leaving with the possibility of hurting Dean. He was leaving in pursuit of being able to save him to some degree.

He cast another look at his brother’s sleeping form, sighed, and left the motel room with hardly a sound.

* * *

They had just finished up a case in central Texas, so even long after the sun had set, the air was still warm and had a touch of humidity to it. The motel was pretty out of the way down a fairly empty stretch of highway, so there was nowhere for Sam to really go. There were two other cars in the lot but as he had seen in the past few days, both belonged to families with children. Hot-wiring one and taking off just wouldn’t be right.

In the morning he’d walk to find a bus station or see if he could hitch a ride to a more populated area. For now, looking around the motel, he figured the patch of hills not far off would be as good a place as any to sit and think.

It was an easy climb up once he reached the foot of the hill about ten minutes later. Sam took a breath before sitting down and looking at the world spread out beneath him. He could still see the motel lights and moving white and red ones from vehicles on the highway.

It was quiet, which was nice. With Dean constantly hovering, there hadn’t been much of that recently. The world seemed still, as if it didn’t know that doom was right around the corner unless a rag tag bunch of people could stop it.

With a sigh he lay down, not minding the dry grass beneath his head. There were some clouds in the sky. Not enough to pose a threat of rain, but enough to obscure some of the dimmer stars. Sam picked out a few constellations and as he did so, felt his mind gradually ease.

He told himself it didn’t matter what Dean thought of him (even though it did) and that Sam knew what his intentions were and would be for the foreseeable future. Sam knew better now, but he could see why Dean wouldn’t believe him. He’d probably call once he had gotten out of town to not cause Dean any more worry. Maybe the conversation would be easier that way, where he couldn’t see the anger or the hurt or the betrayal in his brother’s eyes.

There was a slight breeze in the air that he found himself listening to, whistling softly around the peaceful ground. It picked up and quieted, picked up and quieted, like it were breathing just as he was.

A few moments later, a shout broke through the silence.

Sam sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked out at the motel and highway. Whoever had shouted, they were close.

When it happened again, Sam could swear it was his name being cast into the wind.

_Dean._

He should’ve gone further, left the city as soon as he was out of the room. Sam pulled out his phone and saw multiple missed calls from his brother as well as texts that Sam didn’t bother to read before he slipped it back into his pocket. He absently wondered if his GPS was on, but found that in the end it didn’t really matter.

Dean was pissed, probably rightly so. But Sam couldn’t find it in himself to move from his spot. Dean would find him or he wouldn’t, and if he did, they’d probably hash things out and Sam would go on his way anyways.

Dean had to see by now that Sam leaving was the better option for the two of them.

He didn’t hear any more shouts, but about ten minutes later, he heard footsteps in the grass cresting over the hill. Sam knew who it would be, and didn’t turn his attention away from the highway.

“Sam?” His voice sounded like it were stuck in his throat, probably out of anger or fear for what Sam may have been doing to someone in the darkness. “Jesus, Sam.” The footsteps got closer and pretty soon Sam could make out Dean’s shape in his peripheral vision.

Dean didn’t step in front of him, but seemed to notice Sam wasn’t moving, and sat down a few feet away.

“What the hell, man?” Dean finally asked after a minute of silence. Sam turned his attention to his brother who, if Sam didn’t know any better, he would say looked scared.

“Thought you were asleep,” Sam said with a dismissive shrug. It was the truth, after all, Dean would at least believe that even if he didn’t believe whatever else came out of Sam’s mouth.

Dean scoffed. “I was, until you decided to take off and left this _,_ ” he held out the scrap of paper Sam had left behind. “ _‘It’s better this way’_? Really? Sam, do you…” Dean trailed off and crumpled the note into a ball.

“We both know it is. I figured I’d be gone before you noticed, call later, and you’d be relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“You won’t have to keep watching my back without me around, right?” The corner of his mouth turned up in a sad smirk. “Waiting for me to drink another demon or fail at doing my job or put a knife in your back?”

“The hell are you-“

Sam cut him off. The conversation had started, all the pent up thoughts in Sam’s head boiled down to their core elements, and there was no holding them back. “And I won’t have to see that look in your eyes,” he said as he stared Dean down, “every time you think I’m about to do something wrong. So yeah, it’s better, for both of us. Maybe with less distractions we can fix the world I damned.”

There is was, laid flat out on the table. And Sam couldn’t take seeing the same look in Dean’s eyes again, so he watched the highway. The people down below had no idea what was coming for them or who was to blame.

“Sam, what are you saying? You’re not makin’ any sense here.” To his credit, Dean actually seemed confused, but some of that fear still crept in. Maybe he was worried Sam would get angry and just end things here and now.

Sam grit his teeth. “The leash you’ve been keeping me on for weeks. Keeping me away from demons, or taking the lead on hunts, not _trusting_ my judgement, hiding the freaking weapons! Any of those ring a bell?”

Even without looking, Sam could feel Dean’s eyes on him. Dean didn’t offer up anything to defend himself, so Sam knew he was on the right track.

“I’ve been trying to make it right, so damn hard, but I guess it isn’t enough, and I can’t really be angry at you for thinking it, right? Because, I mean, you have a point.” And damn it, now there was a lump in his throat, and he clenched his jaw harder to avoid it getting the better of him. At least from their positioning, Dean wouldn’t be able to see the wetness in his eyes. “You’re scared of me, of what I could do at the drop of a hat, and I get it. So…it’s just better that I leave.”

The wind whistled around them, the air seeming much colder than it had before.

“Sammy,” Dean eventually whispered. The use of his nickname, which Dean had seldom been using as of late, just made it worse.

Sam drew his knees in closer and focused on following the lights from a big rig until he couldn’t see them anymore. He waited for Dean to yell, to get pissed, to storm off, to do something, but he just sat there.

And then it happened, but not in the way Sam had been expecting.

There wasn’t a shove or a punch or an insult or a ‘you’re right, you’re a monster, Sam’.

There was a tentative hand on his shoulder. That was all.

“I’m not scared of you, Sammy.” It was quiet, but the force behind it had Sam turning to face Dean, not caring about the tears in his eyes. “I’m worried for you.”

It was Sam’s turn for confusion to worm its way into his head. “You’re what?”

Dean kept one hand on Sam’s shoulder and ran the other down his face. In the soft moonlight, Sam noticed his brother’s eyes glistening as well. None of it made any sense.

“I’m scared _for_ you, Sammy. And I’m sorry I didn’t come right out and say it, I thought what I was doing would help, maybe things would get better on their own.” His throat worked as he tried to come up with the right words to say. “I’m worried you could get yourself hurt…on purpose.”

Very, very slowly, Sam started to connect what Dean was really saying. “But the demons, sidelining me, the weapons…” he trailed off.

“You haven’t been sleeping, you’ve been distracted, and that can get you killed on a hunt. I was trying to watch out for you in case that’s what you were going for.”

“Getting killed?” The question turned to ash in his mouth.

Dean nodded minutely. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you, even when we were at the motel, so all that with the weapons, I did it as a precaution. That’s all, I swear.” There was such earnestness in his voice that Sam couldn’t doubt he had meant anything else.

So he didn’t trust Sam, that much was still true, but the reasons were wildly different than the ones that had been churning in Sam’s own mind. The realization of the truth had a pit forming in his stomach. Suddenly the note he had left behind looked a lot less like an explanation and more like a suicide note.

Dean squeezed his shoulder. “I know you screwed up, Sam, and I know that you know it. And I didn’t want you trying any sort of penance or whatever crap for a mess that we’ll fix together.” He used his free hand to tilt Sam’s chin up from where his head had fallen so Dean could look him in the eyes. “And I know you’re doing your best to make it right. I never worried about you doing anything other than that.”

“You mean that?” Sam was still trying to catch up, trying to accept the way that Dean had been looking at things.

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” Dean’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as he brushed away a tear that had fallen onto Sam’s cheek. “Sorry I made you think otherwise.”

Sam had to pause to actually register Dean’s earnest apology. “Sorry I gave you reason to maybe think it in the first place. And I’m not, just so you know, I would never…that,” he fumbled over the words. “Not to you.”

Thankfully, Dean understood what Sam meant just fine, and Sam in turn knew he got the message. Dean nodded to physically show he got it, and dropped his hand from Sam’s shoulder.

Then, somewhat awkwardly given their sitting positions, he wrapped Sam in a hug. Sam didn’t even think twice before putting his arms around Dean’s waist and burying his head in his shoulder. The number of emotions he had worked through in such a short time left him even more exhausted than he had been before, and he fisted his hand tightly in Dean’s jacket.

“The world is better with you in it, little brother, I need you to remember that, no matter what happens,” Dean whispered in his ear. A secret just between them, one that the wind couldn’t carry away. There was something pure in it, a promise, an absolution, that Sam knew Dean believed in his very core.

They held on for a few more seconds before disengaging, and Sam wiped at his eyes with his hand. When he was done, Dean was already standing, and offered Sam a hand up.

“Let’s go see if that movie marathon is still on, hm?” Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder again once he was standing. He only started walking forward when Sam did so too, their footsteps matching each other’s in the grass. A united front, headed to take on the world.


End file.
